


Letters to a Friend

by maximum_overboner



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst fic, Fluffy at times, Gen, King Papyrus, One Shot, Platonic Papyrus/Undyne, Some crude humor, Swearing, based on the king papyrus neutral ending, papyrus tries very hard, sans tries very hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 08:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6650716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maximum_overboner/pseuds/maximum_overboner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Papyrus, a little overwhelmed with his new position as king, sits down to write letters to his dear friend. After all, who wouldn't want to hear about his cool life, especially when they're relaxing on vacation?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letters to a Friend

**Author's Note:**

> back to my roots with a good old angst fic. this contains themes that a few of my other fics do, but it's completely unrelated, i just have a soft spot for them. i hope you enjoy it.

  ‘DEAR UNDYNE,’

  ‘I TRIED LEAVING YOU ANOTHER VOICEMAIL, BUT IT TURNS OUT ANSWERING MACHINES HAVE A LIMIT? WHICH I THINK IS SILLY. HOW CAN YOU ANSWER MESSAGES IF YOUR MACHINE CAN’T TAKE THEM IN THE FIRST PLACE? IT’S VERY STRANGE. I MISS YOU. PLEASE COME BACK. YOU ARE MY BEST FRIEND AND I LOVE YOU VERY MUCH. BELOW IS A PICTURE I DREW OF US BEING COOL, BECAUSE IT OCCURRED TO ME THAT ALL OF THE PICTURES OF US TOGETHER WERE AT YOUR HOUSE? AND I DON’T WANT TO ORDER ANYONE TO BREAK INTO IT, SO I HAD TO IMPROVISE. I HAVEN’T DRAWN BEFORE IN... EVER, NOW THAT I THINK ABOUT IT. I KNOW YOU’RE PROUD OF YOUR MUSCLES, SO I MADE THEM VERY BIG. I CAN’T REMEMBER HOW THEY LOOK, SORRY.’

                                               

 

  
  ‘MY OWN TALENT ASTOUNDS ME. I TRIED TO MAKE IT LOOK LIKE I WAS REACHING OUT MY ARMS IN A SHOW OF FRIENDSHIP, BUT IT LOOKS LIKE I’M SLAPPING YOU IN THE FACE. THAT WASN’T THE INTENTION OF THE PICTURE, AND EVEN IF IT WAS IT WOULD BE A GENTLE SLAP OF FRIENDSHIP. A PLATONIC NOGGIN-BOP.’

  Papyrus shifted his long fingers uncomfortably around his quill, dipping it in the inkpot to his left, the aggressiveness of his motions causing it to spill and soak the table. He gasped. This table was expensive, it must have been. He had a ballpoint pen within arms reach, but he had already made the effort to use a quill, and thus decided it best to see it through, even if the ink smudged, even if he were clumsy. He grabbed a fistful of untouched, blank, paper, doing his best to dab at the stain, making it worse. He sighed, resuming.

  ‘BEING THE KING IS--’

  Papyrus mopped at his eyes, ignoring the great heaves of his shoulders that made his handwriting shake. Undyne, brash though she was, wasn’t stupid. But he couldn’t burden her, it just wasn’t done.

  ‘BEING THE KING IS GREAT! I GET TO HELP TONS OF COOL PEOPLE, AND SANS IS WORKING VERY, VERY HARD!’

  Too hard. Sans hadn’t slept in days. He swayed when he stood up too quickly.

  ‘I MISS YOU. A LOT. THERE ARE LOTS OF FANCY THINGS TO DO WHEN YOU’RE KING, BUT I CAN BARELY REMEMBER ALL OF THEM. I DON’T WANT TO BE KING, BUT IF I’M NOT, THEN SOMEONE ELSE WILL BE. WITH THE WAY THINGS ARE, I WOULDN’T WISH THAT ON ANYONE.’

  He paused, astounded at himself for getting carried away. He groaned, head in his hands, and pulled out another crisp sheet of paper, setting about copying his message with any unnecessary, depressing, additions. He picked up the ballpoint pen, having discarded his quill. They were so unwieldy. That ink would never come out, he thought.

  ‘YO UNDYNE!’

  He discarded that one as well.

  'DEAR UNDYNE--’

 

* * *

  

 

  The Underground had descended into chaos.

  With no heir to the throne and nobody worthy to be mantled as a successor riots had broken out, there was no Captain of the Guard, there was no king to rule them, there was no hidden queen to slip from the shadows with gentle words and guidance, there were no children to be given the titles in name only, until they were old enough to truly rule. Dead. All dead. Or at least on vacation.

  Papyrus quietly picked up the crown, putting it on with an extravagant pose, his height letting him peep out from amongst the rioting crowd, confident in his ability to lead the Underground in the few hours it would take to crown a true king or queen. All at once the crowd locked, and looked. It was not that they were accepting of the idea. It was that they were weary. And to have a young, naive ruler was better than having none at all. The remnants of the Guard scrambled to restore order, swiftly, though clumsily, with no coordination outside of ‘protect the innocent’. Unfortunately, Papyrus had been subject to the longest hour of his life, as it had been one month and nobody else had stepped forward to take their rightful place. And so it was just Papyrus, the King of All Monsters, and--

  “SANS? SANS, WHAT’S YOUR TITLE?”

  “title?”

  “YES! ARE YOU A PRINCE, OR, OR A DUKE, OR SOMETHING?”

  Sans shrugged, his suit fitting him in no way, bunching up awkwardly at the gap in his abdomen. “you decide, i guess? your word is kinda law.”

  Papyrus went to retort out of habit, assuming the statement was sarcastic, but gasped softly when he realized that was literally the case. “UM, RIGHT. OF COURSE! I’M STILL NOT USED TO THAT, BUT AT LEAST MONSTERS HAVE SOMEONE COOL TO DECIDE THESE THINGS FOR THEM!”

  They were both sat at the large, mahogany table in Papyrus’ new room, having abandoned their house in Snowdin for the sake of the kingdom. Papyrus did not take Asgore’s, as he could not stand it. It felt... Sterile, in a way he couldn’t place, an artificial attempt at coziness that didn’t ring true, that left it with an uncanniness that seeped through the whole room to cover the smaller structure, tucked away in the castle. He knew children had lived there, once, and that they did no longer. Even though this was his home now, he would never dare intrude. The castle was a huge structure, built to funnel people into the large main hall, with huge, golden windows that let light beam in, specifically created to mimic sunlight. But next to the entrance there were passages and spires, thick, weathered stone; kitchens and guest beds and all the necessary rooms required for day to day living. The smaller cogs in a once-large, lumbering machine. Papyrus had chosen one of the guest rooms, the largest, though he rarely slept. Sans had deigned to pick the room with the queen-sized bed, so huge that he was difficult to make out in the creases.

  “YOUR TITLE WILL BE, UH...” Papyrus faltered as he watched Sans scribble away at his paperwork, listening, but not engaging. “SANS, I GUESS!”

  And so the Papyrus, King of All Monsters and his brother, Sans, I Guess, set about their day, the amusing novelty of their situation having worn off and leaving trepidation in its place. Papyrus resumed picking at his fingers, feeling as if he would be hit with a sudden burst of kingly knowledge that would make him feel comfortable with the situation he was in. He looked to Sans’ sheets, overflowing with barely legible scrawls, all lowercase.

  “ARE THOSE... ARE THOSE ABOUT THE TAXES?”

  Sans sipped his coffee, and resumed. “yup.”

  “SHOULDN’T... SHOULDN’T I BE DOING THAT?”

  Sans glanced up, surprised. “you wanna?”

  Papyrus tapped his fingers against one another, his naivete apparent. “I WOULDN’T KNOW WHERE TO BEGIN.”

  “i can teach ya. only after this, though. already made a start.”

  “I WOULD LIKE THAT.” With a sigh, Papyrus unclasped his huge cape, a hand-me-down from Asgore that itched uncomfortably at his spine. Asgore was dead, he knew that much. No wonder the rest of them had decided to take a break.

  “you ok? you’re zonin’ out.”

  Papyrus snapped back to reality, pasting his smile back on. “HMM? YES, YES, I’M FINE. SORRY, I HAVE A LOT TO THINK ABOUT.” He looked to the log fire, watching the wood blacken and crackle, the warmness acting as a compress to his aches, soothing him. “I WOULD LIKE TO BE PROACTIVE, I WOULD, MORE THAN ANYTHING, BUT... I DON’T KNOW WHERE TO START!”

  Sans looked to the papers under him, so tired that the words slipped and slurred into each other with only the vaguest semblance of sense keeping them together. “if it’s about this, ya don’t need to worry. i’ve been doin’ paperwork since i was a kid, comes with bein’ the ‘responsible one’,” he poked, but his face fell when his casual remark had stung Papyrus. Papyrus steeled himself.

  “SANS?”

  “yeah, paps?”

  “WHY DIDN’T YOU WANT TO BE KING?”

  “heh, good one.”

  “NO, I’M SERIOUS. I MEAN, I’M GREAT AND ALL, AND COOL, AND HANDSOME, BUT BEING THOSE THINGS DOESN’T REALLY... HELP. AT ALL.”

  “it would if you ever wanted to be a hooker. gotta consider career plans, papyrus.”

  “I AM NOT BECOMING A HOOKER. I AM NOT DRAWING DIAGRAMS FOR PATRONS BEFORE EVERY... _TRANSACTION_. AND YOU’RE DODGING MY QUESTION WITH YOUR JOKES.”

  Sans shifted in his seat, resuming his work, the fabric of his dark suit shuffling with every movement. “too much responsibility, you know me.”

  “I WOULD BELIEVE THAT, WERE YOU NOT WORKING HARD.”

  “more like hardly workin’.”

  “THAT’S YOUR FIFTH CUP OF COFFEE SINCE YOU STARTED ON YOUR WORK. I COUNTED. AND I KNOW YOU LIKE YOUR LONG NAPS--”

  “sleepin’?”

  “YES, THAT TRENDY THING ALL THE KIDS ARE DOING THESE DAYS. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU SLEPT?”

  Sans leaned back, puffing his cheeks in thought. He didn’t need it to survive, but it kept him ticking over. “uh, pfft...”

  “THREE DAYS.”

  Sans balked. “damn.”

  “SO WHY NOT?”

  “why not what?”

  Papyrus slid in his chair, his own immaculately fitted clothing scrunching underneath him, another hand-me-down from Asgore, a surcoat that had been altered to fit his proportions. The shoulders had required only a little tampering, but the waist had to be wrenched in to fit snugly around his spine as padding it was uncomfortable, altered and altered and altered. He had picked the red one. He loved the color. “YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN!”

  “it just ain’t my style.”

  Papyrus went to question him further, but was cut off with two firm, slow raps at the door, not alacritous enough to suggest warm company. Papyrus sighed. It would be official business, he knew it. He steadied himself.

  “COME IN.”

  As soon as the words were out of his mouth, in he came, an adviser in a pristine uniform and long, tapered fingers. “I am sorry to interrupt, Your Majesty--”

  Papyrus recoiled at the title, but composed himself. He always thought he would enjoy the reverence that came with position, but if that were the case it hadn’t quite kicked in yet.

  “--but there is a matter we need you to act on.”

  Papyrus puffed out his chest, sitting rigidly, chin high whilst Sans glanced between them. “OF COURSE! IF THERE IS ANYTHING AT ALL I CAN ASSIST WITH, THEN PLEASE--”

  “The populace is starving, sir.”

  Papyrus felt the air be knocked out of him with a heaving thud, his previous good mood ruined at the starkness of the messenger’s tone, though he could not blame him for it. Sans glanced to the messenger with a glint in his eye, one that suggested the issue should have been quietly presented to him instead, to preserve Papyrus the horror. But it was too late now, it was out there and thus Papyrus needed to deal with it himself. He brought his hands to his skull, the awfulness of their circumstances hitting him once again.

  “I-I... I-I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO,” he admitted, sounding younger than he was, than the figure he cut. “WE... THERE ISN’T ANY FOOD AT ALL?”

  “No, sir. The farmers were slaughtered, sir.”

  Papyrus sat there, aghast.

  “IS THERE... NOBODY THAT CAN REPLACE THEM?”

  “There are a few men and women that can be assigned as laborers, but they will need to be taught to farm, to fish.”

  “THEN... THEN DO THAT.”

  “What about in the meantime?”

  Sans looked to Papyrus, ready to leap in if he couldn’t act, always willing and ready to shoulder the burden. Papyrus cut him off.

  “D-DON’T WE HAVE A STOCKPILE? IN THE CASTLE?”

  “We do.”

  “DISTRIBUTE IT.”

  “But--”

  “ASGORE WOULD HAVE DONE THAT.”

  There was a silence, and it was awkward. Sans coughed to encourage someone to speak. Papyrus cupped his chin, far out of his depth, but satisfied in the decision he had made, if still reeling from the news. “THAT IS MY CHOICE.”

  “Of course.”

  Papyrus took a deep breath, before his voice left and left him squeaking. “A-ANY WORD FROM UNDYNE?

  The envoy, a slender, stork-like man, with a narrow beak and beady eyes caught sight of Sans and his dead, blackened eyes, the white pips gone from them. They framed his smile poorly, as he was well aware it was not a gesture of reassurance. He remembered Sans’ order, framed in mirth as a request, his slow drawl a perfect catalyst for veiled threats.

  “Vacation, sir.”

  Papyrus could not do anything but click his fingers, his towering figure rendered small by his disappointment. “PLEASE DON’T CALL ME ‘SIR’ ALL THE TIME. IT MAKES IT... A LITTLE HARD TO TREAT YOU AS AN EQUAL, THOUGH I REALLY, REALLY WANT TO!’

  He dipped his head. “Apologies, sir.”

  Papyrus huffed, suppressing a surge of irritation, letting it pass through and out of him. His subject, his messenger, stayed still, hovering in the room as if awaiting orders. He had medals. Sans had assumed he had served in the war, had known Asgore, Toriel. The woman in the ruins.

  He drank the last of his coffee, and the bitter grounds wedged in his teeth.

  “O-OH, I... UM. DISMISSED?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  With that he bowed respectfully, and made his way out, clicking the door softly behind him. Papyrus let out the longest sigh of his life, letting his bones settle back into relaxation, shivering from the cold air the intrusion had brought in. Sans was looking at him, dead on, right in the eyes, in a way Papyrus couldn’t read. Even when Papyrus had been withdrawn, Sans could read him like an open book, and yet the opposite had never occurred. It sat uneasily with Papyrus.

  “... IS SOMETHING WRONG?”

  “no, no. i’m just... good job, paps.”

  Papyrus let his expression soften, not wanting to compromise the moment with more pressing questions. “THANK YOU, SANS.”

  “so what are you gonna do for the rest of the night?”

  Papyrus perked up, his voice rocketing to its normal cadence in moments. “I WAS GOING TO WRITE TO UNDYNE!”

  Even Papyrus saw Sans’ face fall.

  “CAN YOU DELIVER IT LIKE ALWAYS?”

 

* * *

   
  ‘DEAR UNDYNE.’

  ‘SO IT TURNS OUT WRITING THESE IS VERY CATHARTIC? IT MAKES ME FEEL A LOT BETTER ABOUT MY SITUATION. EVEN IF I WON’T GET AROUND TO SENDING THESE ONES BECAUSE I DON’T WANT TO UPSET YOU, WELL, I’LL WRITE THEM ANYWAY! IT WILL BE FUN! THEN I CAN RE-WRITE THEM INTO SOMETHING MORE PALATABLE! AND WHEN I’M DONE, I’LL PUT THEM AWAY, OR SET THEM ON FIRE, OR PERHAPS EAT THEM, JUST IN CASE SOMEONE TRIES TO SNOOP. I’M NOT SURE IF I CAN ACTUALLY ABSORB PAPER LIKE FOOD, SO IT MIGHT JUST SIT IN MY RIBS, BEING MUSHY AND GROSS, READY TO BE PLUCKED AND READ. BUT IF I’M BEING HONEST IF THE SITUATION HAS GOT TO THAT POINT THEN I FEEL LIKE THIS LETTER MAY NOT BE MY FIRST PRIORITY.’

  He looked his paragraph over. He had a glass of wine to his side and he sipped it, because that was what he was expected to do, and he grimaced. It... Tasted terrible. He wasn’t sure how people could drink this, even with meals. Steeling himself, he closed his eyes and drank the whole thing in a long, burning gulp. Ahh. Awful.

  ‘THE GOOD THING ABOUT WRITING A LETTER IS THAT NOBODY EVER ASKS YOU TO CUT TO THE CHASE. YOU GET A FINITE AMOUNT OF WORDS ON SOME, ADMITTEDLY EXPENSIVE, REED PAPER--”

  He tried to remember the name of the paper, it did have one, specifically reed paper. He couldn’t place it. It was probably obscure. He poured himself another glass, it was open now, anyway.  
  
  ‘-- AND SO YOU LEARN TO SAVOR THEM ALL, EVEN IF THEY DON’T REALLY GO ANYWHERE. PEOPLE KEEP ASKING ME TO ‘CUT TO THE CHASE’. I DIDN’T KNOW I RAMBLED! ESPECIALLY NOW I DON’T REALLY HAVE ANYONE TO TALK TO, NOT REALLY, NOT LIKE WE DID. SANS HAS BEEN ACTING... ODD. ODDER THAN USUAL. WHICH IS WHY IT WOULD BE SUPER NEAT IF YOU CAME BACK!’

  Another long swig. He wasn’t enthused before, but it was strange, the wine didn’t taste terrible at this point. He couldn’t pick up any of the ‘rose’ or the ‘nutty’ flavors in it, he had been told they were in there, it still tasted like alcohol, but not unpleasantly. It left a warmth that settled in his ribs, moving outwards to settle and tingle in his bones. He felt a little sleepy, but that was to be expected, it was the evening and he had nobody left to meet with.  
  
  ‘I THINK WE WOULD BE LIKE ONE OF THOSE FNANCY--’

  He stopped, shook his head, then looked to the word again. ‘Fnancy’, good grief.

  ‘I THINK WE WOULD BE LIKE ONE OF THOSE ~~FNANCY~~ FANCY POWER-COUPLES, BUT NOT THE KISSING KIND, THE HIGH-FIVING KIND. YOU CAN RUN THE GUARD FROM HERE, YOU CAN EVEN GET YOUR OWN ROOM, I’LL TOTALLY GIVE YOU OEN--’

  He quirked his brow, finishing off his glass and pouring another. God, how careless. But it wasn’t as if she would see this, only the revised one.

  ‘-- I’LL TOTALLY GIVE YOU ~~OEN~~ ONE! IT CAN BE LIKE ONE OF THOSE SLEEPOVERS WE HAVE, DO YOU REMEMBER? LIKE OUR TRUTH OR DARE GAMES! REMEMBER THE TIME YOU THOUGHT I HAD DARED YOU TO RUN NAKED THROUGH WATERFALL, EVEN THOUGH I WAS BEGGING YOU TO STOP? IT WAS EMBARRASSING, BUT LOOKING BACK, IT WAS REALLY FUNNY!’

  He was hunched over the desk, his chuckles slurring into a long, high laugh at the memory, his hands clammy and shuddering, his figure softened by the candlelight of his room, his problems slipping away.

  ‘I AM SO GLAD YOU’RE IN CHARGE OF POLICING, OR YOU WOULD HAVE BEEN ARRESTED! GOD, COULD YOU IMAGINE? I WOULD HAVE BEEN SCARED FOR THE OTHER PRISONERS, A BLUE, SCREAMING, NAKED WOMAN SUPLEXING THEM OUT OF NOWHERE.’

  He was laughing vividly now, faintly aware that the things he were thinking about weren’t that funny, but he could not help it. Giggles bubbled and sat in his throat like gas, occasionally spilling out. His head felt warm.

  ‘WHAT’S EVEN THE POLICY FOR SOMETHING LIKE THAT? THIS ISN’T A RHETORICAL QUESTION, I WOULD LOVE TO KNOW. REALLY. DO THEY JUST ARREST YOU AGAIN? THEY MUST GIVE YOU CLOTHES AT SOME ~~PIOTN~~ POINT. DO YOU GET SUPER-ARRESTED?’

  Heh, ‘super-arrested’. She would like that, he knew.

  ‘BUT ANYWAY, I’VE TAKEN UP ENOUGH OF YOUR TIME! I’M DOING WELL, AND I’M GLAD THAT YOU’RE HAVING FUN IN YOUR SUPER SECRET VACATION SPOT! I WONDER WHERE IT IS? SANS IS THE ONE THAT POSTS THE LETTERS, SO I’M SORRY IF THEY’RE LATE! I’LL SPEAK TO YOU SOON, UNDYNE, OR I’LL JUST NEED TO DROWN YOU IN LETTERS UNTIL YOU RESPOND!’

  He felt solemn, now, underneath his warmth.

  ‘LOVE, PAPYRUS.’

  God, his handwriting looked  _terrible!_

  ‘PS. WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME WINE EXISTED? IT’S VERY FUN, EVEN IF IT TASTES STRANGE. I’M OFF TO GO GET ~~MROE~~ MORE!’

  He stumbled up, sauntering out of his room to fetch some, aware that he should probably rewrite it in the morning when he wasn’t having quite so much fun. It felt odd, to have fun without her. It rang hollow, but he had filled the gap with booze. He needed to ask Sans where she was, when he was done. But Sans was good at dodging his questions. He had a plan.

 

* * *

 

 

  Papyrus was struck with how loud the world was. He peeled himself from his pillow, sleep still a novelty to him, a thick trail of drool cementing his face to the downy surface. He groaned, wiping his mouth with his bare arm. Ugh. Unceremoniously, he let his face slump back into the pillow, letting its plumpness fill the curves on his face. Ah, that was better. He needed a nice, long drink of water.

  He heard Sans clear his throat, feet away from the bed, and he threw himself upwards.

  “SANS?!”

  “yeah, you uh... look hungover.” He handed over the glass of water in his hands, giving Papyrus a reassuring pat on his wrist.

  “WHAT MAKES YOU SAY THAT?”

  “well, you were drunk last night, right? you were singin’ along to old eighties tracks. i could hear you from my room.”

  “O-OH. RIGHT. I CAN’T REMEMBER THAT.”

  Papyrus chugged the glass, the image not fitting him. He felt sweaty, and as soon as Sans had left he would take a thorough shower.

  “i, uh, knocked on the door a couple of times but i don’t think you could hear me over your one-man rendition of 'take on me'.”

  “OH GOOD GOD.”

  “you did the backing and all, it wasn’t even that off-key.”

  “SMALL MERCIES.”

  “like, with a lot of training, it could be bearable.”

  “PLEASE STOP.”

  Papyrus rolled his shoulders, his headache growing to unbearable levels. He tore himself from his bed, groaning, and Sans found the resemblance uncanny.

  “THANKS FOR THE WATER, I APPRECIATE IT.”

  “how uh... how’d this happen?”

  “I DRANK SOME WINE.”

  “alright.”

  “AND THEN I HAD SOME MORE.”

  “... i... had gathered.”

  Sans looked to the table, to the end he normally sat at, covered in half done paperwork, and to Papyrus’ usually immaculate part. It was covered in errant sheets of paper, and an unsealed envelope.

  “OH, THAT’S MY LETTER TO UNDYNE! I NEED TO LOOK IT OVER, I... WASN’T IN THE BEST STATE WHEN I WROTE IT,” he laughed, his youth affording him easy hangovers. Sans prickled, but didn’t speak. They heard the clink of metal outside, of the guards that roamed the halls. They stopped outside, as they normally did, keeping watch.

  Papyrus adjusted his clothing, it having bunched up in his sleep. He had already disregarded a chunk of his dignity, best to get it all out of the way. “I DON’T... I DON’T REALLY LIKE THEM BEING THERE,” he began, making conversation, motioning to the guards. “I DON’T FEEL LIKE I HAVE ANY, YOU KNOW... PRIVACY. I LIKE TO BE LEFT ALONE, SOMETIMES, EVEN IF I’M ALWAYS WELCOME TO THE IDEA OF MAKING NEW FRIENDS! I’VE TRIED TALKING TO THEM, ABOUT THEIR LIVES, ABOUT THEIR FAMILIES, BUT THEY’RE ALWAYS SO... GUARDED?”

  “they’re guards.”

  “I KNOW, I KNOW, BUT I REMEMBER TALKING TO SOME OF THEM IN SNOWDIN, WHEN THEY WOULD PASS THROUGH ON PATROLS. THE DOG, THE VERY OLD ONE THAT HELPS DELIVER GOODS IN THE KITCHEN? HIS REGIMENT USED TO WALK BY OUR APARTMENT. HE WOULD SMILE AND WAVE WHEN I WAS LITTLE. BUT WHEN I ASK THEM A QUESTION IT’S ALWAYS ‘YES SIR, NO SIR, YES SIR,’ I HAVE TO PROMPT THEM TO ELABORATE! AND IF YOU NEED TO PROMPT THEM, WELL... IT’S NOT A CONVERSATION, IS IT?”

  He looked to the door wistfully, tapping his fingers, and Sans picked up on his thoughts with an accuracy borne of time spent together.

  “papyrus, asgore... was around for a long, long time--”

  “I KNOW, SANS, THE STAFF DRILLED IT INTO ME.”

  “i’m only sayin’, that maybe it takes... time? this is probably the biggest thing that’s ever happened in the underground, uh... ever? so people will wanna keep up appearances, right? so it’s just a case of toughin’ out the awkwardness, for now. it’s not that they don’t like you, or don’t wanna be your friend, it’s that... this is new.”

  “IT WOULD BE NICE. TO HAVE MORE FRIENDS.”

  Papyrus looked up to Sans, voice trilling and hopeful.

  “IT’S TIME TO BRING UNDYNE BACK! SHE’S HAD OVER A MONTH, NOW. SHE’LL BE GETTING LAZY! CAN YOU CONTACT HER?”

  Sans shifted on his feet, and Papyrus knew what his answer would be.

  “look, look, i’ve got paperwork to do. i gotta cut this short--”

  “NO. NO, YOU DON’T,” Papyrus barked, finally cracking. “WHAT YOU’RE ACTUALLY TRYING TO DO IS WALK OUT OF THE ROOM AS YOU DODGE MY QUESTIONS, THEN LET THE DOOR CLICK SHUT WITH SOME VAGUE, ODDLY SINISTER STATEMENT AT THE END. NO MORE. DON’T THINK I HAVEN’T CAUGHT ON TO YOUR HABITS, SANS. YOU WEAR THEM ON YOUR SLEEVE, WHICH YOU HAVE TAPED TO YOUR FACE, BECAUSE IT’S VERY OBVIOUS.”

  Sans looked back, impressed, though slightly confused.

  “CLEARLY YOU HAVE BEEN BLOWN AWAY BY MY WORD-CRAFTING. BUT NOW IS NOT THE TIME FOR THAT. WHEN DOES SHE COME BACK?”

  “who’s ‘she’--?”

  Papyrus leaned forward, his expression...

  Sans narrowed his eyes.

  _Conflicted?_

  “SANS,” he began, voice low and steady, “YOU HAVE _LOCKED_ ME INTO THIS SITUATION.”

  All at once the door to his bedroom slammed shut with ease, and Sans swung around at the noise, it ringing out against the cold stone. Papyrus, eyes lidded with fatigue and the remnants of the alcohol still in his system, still looked sharp, but weary, like a bashed sword.

  Sans jaw opened in disbelief, his eyes darting from the door, to his brother, to the door. “s’cuse me?”

  Papyrus scratched his neck, feeling more than a little guilty. “I HAVE HAD THE DOOR LOCKED FROM THE OUTSIDE.”

  Sans blinked, stunned. “ _... s’cuse me?_ ”

  “THE GUARDS. THE ONES THAT STAND OUTSIDE AND LOOK COOL, AND ALSO SORT OF HANDSOME? THEY LOCKED THE DOOR. I ASKED THEM TOO, WHEN I SAID THAT WORD.”

  Sans continued staring, offended at Papyrus’ lack of trust, scolding himself for inspiring his brother to act deceitfully, unintentionally poisoning the bottomless well of his integrity. Papyrus mistook this for confusion.

  “WITH THEIR KEYS.”

  And so it had come to this.

  Sans pulled out a chair, knowing full well when he had been outmaneuvered. The chair gave an air of uncomfortable ‘officialness’ to the proceedings, and Papyrus forced himself to stand that little bit straighter as he stood up, head swaying. He walked over, settling into the seat opposite.

  “you can be... you can be pretty sly when you want to, huh?”

  “IT’S NOT BEING ‘SLY’, IT’S BEING PRAGMATIC.”

  Papyrus took a deep breath, and Sans stilled his, cursing himself for getting wrapped up in this lie in the first place to protect Papyrus’ innocence, even if it was only temporary, even if it didn’t matter, he couldn’t bring himself to break it.  
  
  “SANS? BRING HER BACK.”

  “pap...” he began, wringing his wrists, his breath deep and long, doing nothing to settle his nausea. “please just... just leave her be, alright? she’ll be back--”

  A reset was due in the next few weeks, he knew. It was all he needed.

  “-- soon.”

  Papyrus was focused, his arm gestures grand and aggrandizing, hiding logic that, whilst off-kilter, was sound. “WHY SHOULD SHE BE BACK SOON WHEN SHE COULD BE BACK NOW? I’VE SCOURED THE GARBAGE DUMP FOR THOSE TERRIBLE CARTOONS SHE LIKES, I’VE GOT HER FAVORITE FOOD, I’LL LET HER LIVE HERE, EVERYTHING WILL BE FINE, IT’LL BE FINE!”

  “pap--”

  “SO ALL YOU NEED TO DO IS CONTACT HER.”

  Sans leaned forward, in consolation. He dropped his voice, and in the back of Papyrus’ mind he knew what it meant, but that couldn’t be the case because Undyne was a good person that would come back and help! “paps--”

  “JUST A FEW SIMPLE LETTERS IN YOUR TERRIBLE HANDWRITING! THEY COULD SPELL ‘C-O-M-E  B-A-C-K’ OR ‘M-I-S-S  Y-O-U’ OR ANYTHING AT ALL, REALLY. JUST AS LONG AS IT GETS THE POINT ACROSS!”

  There was a pressure building in Sans, one he couldn’t relieve, he was trapped here, in this situation, in his life, and it built and built.

  Papyrus was frantic, his smile locked but his eyes welling.

  “WE NEED TO WATCH MOVIES AND CATCH UP, AND SHE CAN GET TOGETHER WITH ALPHYS AND IT’LL BE REALLY CUTE! SHE CAN TEASE ME WHEN I GAWK AT METTATON ON THE TV, WHEN HE COMES BACK TOO--”

  Sans gripped his fist tightly, until it hurt. This was cruel, this was beyond cruel, and it was his fault. Papyrus was an adult, an adult, the king, and to try and preserve his innocence to such an extent was selfish of him.

  “SHE DESERVES A BREAK, SHE DOES, SHE REALLY DOES, THEY ALL DO, BUT SHE NEEDS TO COME BACK!”

  The words were out before Sans could even think, and they would be the catalyst for his reveal, they spewed from his maw and dragged guilt with their force. “don’t you want ‘em to relax?”

  Papyrus paused, heartbroken, in a look pierced Sans like an icepick, every passing second gently tapping at its base. The betrayal was evident in his eyes, in the way he clutched his hand to his chest. His shoulders slumped with resignation, his self-imposed bubble of denial popping.

  “SANS? SOMETHING HAPPENED, DIDN’T IT?”

  “what makes you--”

  “YOU’RE TRYING TO MAKE ME FEEL GUILTY. YOU NEVER DO THAT. I NEVER THOUGHT YOU WOULD.”

  There was a silence as heavy as the mountain above them, that trapped them like a glass over skittering insects, who would carry out their duties on instinct, unaware of the world outside.

  “SHE’S DEAD, ISN’T SHE?”

  _Fuck._

  Sans scratched the back of his head, wishing he were anywhere but there, staring at his paperwork under him.

  “THEY’VE BEEN DEAD ALL ALONG. IT WAS THE HUMAN, WASN’T IT? IT WAS MY FRIEND.”

  Sans’ voice was barely audible.

  “yeah. yeah, it was them. they killed pretty much everyone they came across.”

  Papyrus mouthed the syllables back, ‘pretty much everyone’, let them roll and swirl on his palette like wine. “PRETTY MUCH EVERYONE?”

  “pretty much everyone.”

  The ‘except you’ didn’t need to be said. It was there, plain as day.  
  
  Papyrus brought his hands to his knees, squeezing and squeezing until they hurt. He couldn’t cry, he was the king, he had responsibilities, he would be king until he died, _he couldn’t cry_.

  “i, uh... i didn’t want you to... to get down, y’know? to get bummed out.”

  “EVERYONE KNEW, DIDN’T THEY. EVERYONE KNEW.”

  “they did.”

  “EVERYONE BUT THE KING KNEW.”

  “look, pap, i--”

  “YOU CAN’T HAVE IT BOTH WAYS, SANS. YOU CAN’T LET ME BE IGNORANT AND BE KING. IT’S NOT FAIR.”

  “... i know.”

  The tears were rolling down his face, now, and he had split the fabric of his surcoat at the knees, unable to last under the mutilation. “I DON’T UNDERSTAND. IF THEY WERE TO BE NICE AND SPARE EVERYONE, THEN THAT WOULD BE FANTASTIC! IF THEY WERE TO KILL EVERYONE, THEN... WELL, THERE’S SOMETHING WRONG, SOMETHING FUNDAMENTALLY WRONG THAT NEEDS FIXED. IF THEY WERE TO KILL ALMOST EVERYONE, THEN... W-WHAT WAS IT ABOUT ME?”

  Sans had no idea what to say, and so he had remained quiet. He had warned the Human off, with _that_ glint in his eye and _that_ tone of voice. It may have been fear. No altruism, no regret, only blind self-preservation.  
  
  “aren’t you... gonna yell at me? shout at me, scream, stomp? you can... you can hit me a couple times, i deserve it.”

  Papyrus was, for the first time in his life, very, very quiet. His chin was tucked to his chest, staring at himself. “NO. NO, YOU DON’T DESERVE THAT. AND I’M SORRY THAT YOU THINK THAT YOU DO.”

  Sans, quietly, solemnly, stood up, walked over and pulled out a handful of letters, all sealed with wax cast along its edge, strung together with yarn. He handed them over, and Papyrus sat there as if he didn’t know what they were, before his shaky hands took them back.

  Papyrus looked him over, eyes brimming with betrayal, arms locked to his sides. He held the letters in a pincer-like grip.

  “ _DISMISSED._ ”

  Sans heard the lock unclick. He would have preferred the beating. Staying silent, putting on that dead, vacant expression Papyrus was uncomfortably accustomed to, he walked out with measured, even steps, knowing full well he was in the wrong.

  “sorry, paps.”

  The door shut.

  Papyrus knew that dying was a possibility in front of a Human, that was the case when he had confronted them, suicidal in his blind, unwavering devotion to the very idea that people were generally well-meaning. An adherence to the way the world _should_ have been, rather than what it already was. And they took to it. They spared him, broke down and wept, dropped the knife and clung to his shuddering, terrified bones like sweat. They hung out. He had a book about it and everything. They were better, then. All they needed was a cool guy to be their friend, who didn’t?

  After their day together was over, they once again picked up the knife, and resumed.

  Oh, those poor, innocent people.

  Oh that poor, misguided child, thinking their course of action was the correct one.

  Poor, passionate Undyne, who would have swung with her last rather than retreated to the safety of Papyrus’ home.

  Tears tumbling from his eyes he ripped a sheet of paper from its holding, picked up the quill and stabbed it into the ink like he were gouging out the guts of a fish, and hastily, shakily brought it to the paper, pressing so hard he tore it, carving the words into the wood beneath.

  ‘ _DEAR UNDYNE._ ’

  ‘ _PLEASE COME BACK._ ’

  ‘ _PLEASE COME BACK UNDYNE I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT TO DO I HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA AT ALL SANS DOES ALL THE WORK AND I NEED YOU BECAUSE YOU’RE GOOD WITH THESE SORTS OF THINGS AND I MISS YOU VERY MUCH PLEASE COME BACK I’M VERY SORRY I LET THE HUMAN GO INSTEAD OF LOCKING THEM IN THE TOOLSHED I’M VERY VERY SORRY I’M VERY SORRY PLEASE COME BACK YOU CAN BE THE NEW QUEEN AND YOU’LL KNOW WHAT TO DO I’M VERY SORRY_ ’

  He lay his arms flat against the table, resting his head against them, and wailed. A caterwaul, an unearthly, broken noise. Sans would never forget that sound. He would never forget the way the guards looked at him as he walked down that hall, awkwardly mopping at his own, quietly weeping in the way someone totally unused to crying does.

  All engagements had been called off. They did not speak, not until the dead of night, not until Sans was about to drift off into a bleary, uneasy sleep. His door has creaked open, and though he was not facing it he could tell from the pattern of the footsteps that it was Papyrus. He hovered there, for a moment. He finally broke the silence, sniffling, voice hoarse.

  “... G-GOODNIGHT, SANS. I-I’M SORRY FOR GETTING ANGRY AT YOU. I UNDERSTAND WHY YOU DID IT. I FORGIVE YOU. LOVE YOU.”

  Quietly, and quickly, he closed the door, pattering off down the hall to his own room, his weeping starting up again at the halfway point.

  Just like that, Sans was forgiven, and yet that made him feel so much _worse_.

 

* * *

 

  Papyrus was sat on his throne, and it swamped him, the huge structure making his imposing figure frail in its size. It had been a long day, and he was glad, both that it was over, and that he did not dread them. It had been one week, but having his ignorance torn from him had helped his attempts to talk earnestly with the staff. They didn’t have to lie, and he didn’t hold it against them in the slightest. That man, the Guard, the one that would patrol by his house? His name was Jonathan. He had two sons and a daughter, and was recently widowed. He liked gardening. The woman that patrolled the hallways on Wednesday afternoons, she jogged in the morning, and Papyrus had lamented his falling out of the habit to her. It was a pleasant distraction. He hoped they did not pity him. There was a woman, a cook, who worked in the kitchens in the early morning, but he could not bear to talk to her. Her skin was unmarred, and her hair was a slick black, like oil, but her skin was a vivid blue that made it too difficult. He hoped she didn’t think he was rude.

  He began the long, slow walk to his room to collect his thoughts, morose. His steps were plodding, but joined by another, though he was not sure when that had happened. His voice did not carry the high, innocent lilts it once did, though it was still remarkably loud.

  “I APPRECIATE YOU CHECKING UP ON ME, SANS.”

  “it’s the least i can do.”

  They walked, one foot following the other in perfect sync. They were passing the smaller rooms on the ground floor, meant for hosting guests, unused for years, cobwebs tainting splendor.

  “you had to... you gotta keep your spirits up, y’know? you govern the populace.”

  Papyrus dipped his head bleakly, clicking his fingers, his cape itching his bones and his crown scraping his bare skull. “SANS... WHAT POPULACE?”

  Sans looked back, letting him speak, brows knit in sympathy.

  “I MEAN, I KNOW IT’S A CRUDE SUBJECT, BUT THERE’S SO MANY MONSTERS OF ALL DIFFERENT KINDS MISSING... I-I DON’T KNOW IF THERE WILL EVEN BE A POPULACE FURTHER DOWN THE LINE, IN THE FUTURE, YEARS FROM NOW. MOST CAN’T EVEN REPRODUCE WITHOUT SOMEBODY SIMILAR, SO I DON’T KNOW--”

  He sniffled, before crushing his tears under his willpower and steadying his voice, his hope, his resolve, his determination.

  “B-BUT THAT’S NO REASON TO GIVE UP,” he said, mostly to himself. “THERE’S NEVER A REASON! IF WE’RE SLOWLY MARCHING TOWARDS EXTINCTION I WANT IT TO BE ONE OF THOSE FANCY MARCHES. THE KINDS WITH TUBA PLAYERS AND PEOPLE IN TALL HATS. WITH THE CUTE UNIFORMS. I DON’T WANT ALL OF THIS... DOOM AND GLOOM, YOU KNOW?” He motioned to himself subconsciously, a twitch that would only be picked up on by someone placing him under deep scrutiny. “BEING MISERABLE ISN’T VERY FUN.”

  Sans finally plucked up the courage to speak, wise with experience Papyrus couldn’t have possibly known about, his feet squeaking against the floor.

  “i’m not usually one for positive thinkin’, all that stuff, but, uh... things are gonna change soon. trust me. you just gotta tough it out.”

  “I’LL DO MY BEST. YOU DON’T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT ME GIVING UP, EVER!”

  “i know, paps. i know.”

  They were ascending the long, uneven steps to the upper floor, their footsteps echoing back and forth across the chamber. Papyrus paused mid-step, his back to Sans.

  “SANS?”

  “yeah, pap?”

  “CAN YOU... CAN YOU DO ME A FAVOR?”

  “anythin’.”

  “I WANT YOU TO COVER MY DUTIES FOR ONE DAY. JUST ONE DAY. THEN I’LL COME BACK, AND TAKE OVER. I’LL BE A REAL KING, I’LL DO MY BEST. EVEN THE HARD, BORING BITS.”

  “of course.”

  Papyrus went to take another step, but couldn’t pluck up the strength. The question of what Sans would do hung suspended between them, and though Sans didn’t care, it would all be gone soon, he owed to it Papyrus to do whatever was laid in front of him, to make his life as easy as possible.

  “YOU CAN... YOU CAN DO WHAT YOU WANT. YOU CAN STAY HERE AND HELP, O-OR YOU CAN GO OUT AND SELL HOTDOGS AGAIN. _LEGAL_ HOTDOGS. YOU CAN JOIN UP WITH THE SCIENTISTS, YOU’RE QUALIFIED ENOUGH. WHATEVER YOU WANT.”

  “what’ll you do if i go?”

  “I’LL DO MY JOB.”

  Sans paused, giving it serious consideration.

  “if i wanted to stay and help, would you be cool with that? or... i, i fucked up bad, i can understand if you want me out of your hair, ‘cause of und--”

  Papyrus wasn’t at the point where he could here her name without breaking down, and stopped him.

  “I WOULD BE GLAD. THANK YOU, SANS.”

  Sans, despite himself, brimmed with pride, their silhouettes framed against the walls of the stairwell. “you’re all grown up, huh?”

  “I AM,” Papyrus replied in dark mirth that didn’t suit him, “ALL IT TOOK WAS FOR MANY PEOPLE TO DIE.”

 

* * *

 

  Papyrus visited Waterfall, where he knew she must have died. He stood over the precipice as if addressing his people before a war, his subjects, technically, and took a deep breath. With quaking hands, he pulled a letter out of his pants pocket, sodden, unpleasant fabric groping at his digits like slime. The others peeped out. He had managed to wrangle a day, Sans bearing his burdens to give him time to do this.

  “DEAR UNDYNE--”

**Author's Note:**

> if you ever want to spend a fun five minutes doing nothing, just sit down and draw something deliberately terrible


End file.
